Italian Days and Ways

by Anne Hollingsworth Wharton

Ludovico evidently had the same thought. Touched by the girl's beauty, after the manner of his beauty-loving race, he bent over Angela and repeated the old story of the three prisoners from Britain whose fair faces and blonde heads drew from Pope Gregory the exclamation, "Non Angli sed angeli!" "And this," added Ludovico, devoutly, "as you know, led to the Christianizing of Britain."

By the time Ludovico had finished his story we had reached the Borgo Nuovo. At the Piazza Rusticucci there was so long a line of carriages that we abandoned ours, and passed on foot through Bernini's lofty colonnade, and on by wicked Caligula's grand obelisk out into the vastness of the piazza, spanned to-day by the most perfect of Italian skies, into whose ethereal blueness Maderno's noble fountains were trying which one could throw its spray the highest.

It is a privilege to see St. Peter's at any time, but to see it to-day, with the great piazza filled with soldiers and the vast, surging, swaying throng of people, is an inspiration as well as a joy. The varied uniforms of the soldiers and guards and the gowns of the different seminarists, blue, green, purple, and, above all, the brilliant scarlet gowns of the German students, against the gray background of the great basilica, added much to the picturesqueness of the scene.

At the top of the great steps leading to the vestibule Ludovico begged us to turn for a moment to see the crowd below, a restless sea of heads, an immense concourse of people, but a good-natured crowd to which any one might trust himself with safety. Many tourists, English, French, and German as well as American, went to St. Peter's to-day provided only with the white biglietti of admission, and suffered no inconvenience. I really hesitate to tell you just how many souls are said to have been in the basilica this morning, lest the apparent extravagance of my statement should lead to incredulity in the future; but it is said that there were over 50,000 souls inside the walls.

Dr. M. and Ludovico left us at the south door, and once inside the building we had no difficulty in making our way to the sacristy, and through the gray marble portal, by Romano's statues of St. Peter and St. Paul, and so on to the tribunes in the transept.

Rich silk hangings draped the stone walls and columns, those behind the papal throne being embroidered in ecclesiastical designs. The throne was placed in front of the ancient Chair of St. Peter, and between our seats and the throne was the great high altar, ninety-five feet in height, with its bronze canopy and graceful spiral columns of Bernini, double spirals richly gilded. As the mass was to be celebrated at the high altar and as we were in the fourth row of seats from the front, we were sure of a good view of the Pope. All around us were the Swiss Guards, in the picturesque costume of red, yellow, and black designed by Michael Angelo, and the Pope's Guardia Nobile, with "winged Achillean helmet above the Empire uniform—half Greek, half French, half gods, half dandies," as Mrs. Ward described this guard of young nobles which surrounds the Pope. The uniform of the Gendarme Pontificio is somewhat like that of the old Philadelphia City Troop, a handsome uniform of black and white with an immense shako adorned with a red plume. But most gorgeous of all were the chamberlains, in a costume of black velvet of the period of Philip II., a Spanish dress with a velvet cape thrown over one shoulder, superb lace cuffs and collar and an immense ruff around the neck, and gold cords and chains without end. Zelphine and I fancied our friend Dr. R., who was chamberlain to Pope Leo XIII., figuring in this rich, decorative costume. One of the chamberlains wore a costume of ruby-colored velvet with a sable hood over his shoulders.

It was so interesting to sit still and watch the changing scene before us that the two hours of waiting passed quickly. The Pope's little sisters sat in front of us in the seats nearest to the high altar, but although quite close to us we could not see their faces. They, of course, wore the costume de rigueur for such functions, black gowns, and black lace veils on their heads. During the long wait, an American girl sitting near us told us of her experiences. Not understanding about the costume required, "very stupidly," as she said and as we thought, she appeared in a dark blue suit with a hat to match. The guard refused to admit her, explaining the reason with signs and gestures, pointing at the same time to the veiled ladies passing through the doorway. Then, in a flash, presto change!—our quick-witted countrywoman had taken off her hat and tucked it in the folds of her skirt, having previously denuded it of a black dotted veil which she threw over her head. The guard, lost in wonder at the sudden transformation, was so bedazzled that he did not notice that her gown was blue instead of black, or perhaps he was so sure that she would get in by hook or by crook, that he allowed her to pass, exclaiming, "Ah, these Americans!"

"Something is going to happen," said Angela; "the Swiss Guards are coming." A detachment marched along the central aisle, with cuirass and iron helmet added to their brilliant plumage of every-day wear, and lined up by the papal throne. There was a rustle and stir of expectancy over the vast assemblage, then breathless stillness like the silence of nature before a storm. All eyes strained towards the eastern door, through which entered the gorgeous procession. The Palatine Guard lined the way down the central aisle, some of the Swiss Guard being stationed at different points. First came the Guardia Nobile, then the mitred abbots, the bishops and archbishops in copes and mitres of white and gold, the patriarchs and cardinals, these latter with long capes of cloth of gold worn over their scarlet robes. Then came the canons and monsignori in lace and fur tippets, after them the prince in attendance on the papal throne, Don Filippo Orsini, followed by the secret chamberlains bearing the precious tiaras and mitres covered with gold and jewels. The triple crown, which was borne upon a cushion, was a blaze of the most brilliant jewels, diamonds, emeralds, and rubies, too heavy in its richness to be borne long by any mortal head.

Finally, announced by a blast from the silver trumpets, the Pope appeared, seated in the sedia gestatoria, borne above the heads of the multitude by members of the household in a livery of scarlet cloth, the huge feather fans or flabella being carried on each side. I really did not grasp all these details at first, as the interest all centred in that one august figure. The Pope was pale, and at first appeared to be somewhat agitated. It is said that he very much dislikes to be carried into the church, and it must, indeed, be a trying position. The chair is lifted high above the heads of the people, that every one may see the Holy Father; it is borne along slowly, pausing altogether at intervals. There was a stop near our seats of a minute or more, which gave us an opportunity to see the noble, benevolent face of the one man who stands for so much to millions of the faithful. Less handsome and distinguished in appearance than some of his pictures, Pius X. has that in his face that is worth infinitely more than manly beauty or aristocratic bearing; one cannot look into it without being impressed by his earnestness and sincerity.

It was all perfectly entrancing; the vast crowd of people so still and reverent, and now and again, when the interest was most intense, a subdued murmur, the Pope turning to right and left to give his blessing, just as he appears in the picture I send you. When the Holy Father had been carried to the apse, he descended from the sedia gestatoria and knelt in prayer before St. Peter's Chair. At this moment a bright ray of sunshine fell upon the group of prelates in their rich and varied vestments; the jewels flashed back their many-hued lights, making a gorgeous mass of color, in the midst of which was the white-robed, triple-crowned figure of the kneeling Pope.